


not evil by design

by platonics



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Character Development, Hallucinations, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Murder, Nonbinary Character, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Tulpas, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/platonics/pseuds/platonics
Summary: Shinguuji Korekiyo died and did not rest in peace.
Relationships: Shinguji Korekiyo & Shinguji Korekiyo's Sister, Shinguji Korekiyo & Yumeno Himiko, Shinguji Korekiyo/Yumeno Himiko
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i generally don't like posting fics before they're completely finished but here i am doing it anyway
> 
> this isn't a happy fic. as it goes on, there'll be a good deal of focus on korekiyo's trauma at the hands of sister. more specific warnings will be added as needed in the tags and chapter notes, and the csa aspect won't be described in detail, but blanket notice that this is from the pov of an abuse survivor gradually coming to terms with the fact that yes, it was abuse. pls take care of yourself!

Shinguuji Korekiyo died and did not rest in peace.

There were innumerable theories and opinions on what happened after death. Humanity had always been preoccupied with mortality, and it was one of the subjects Korekiyo always took a special interest in. They believed in the existence of spirits, certainly. Sister was proof enough of that. But as for what awaited those who didn’t or couldn’t haunt the mortal plane...They’d never formulated a solid opinion on that. If forced to choose, though, reincarnation wouldn’t be near the top of the list.

The searing pain had barely ceased, giving way to the encroaching nothingness, when Korekiyo woke up in a locker.

Still dizzy, they hesitantly extended a hand into the darkness. Within seconds, their palm met solid metal, cold leaching in through their bandages. Welcoming the feeling after the agony of their execution, they left their hand there for a few seconds, splaying out their fingers against whatever surface this was. It felt real. 

They pushed against it, and the door swung open. So they did indeed have a solid form. That bit of information was overshadowed by the barrage of sights assaulting their eyes. The light stung after the darkness of the locker, and they blinked rapidly, vision slowly adjusting and taking in the familiar classroom. Across the room, inspecting the barbed wire on the windows and looking very, very real, was Amami Rantaro.

“Wh—” Korekiyo’s breath caught in their throat. The utterance was quiet, but it was enough to catch Amami’s attention. He turned, gazing at them with a look of distinct curiosity. They forced their hand away from where it was fidgeting with their locket, and smoothed their features into what was hopefully a look of bland apathy. 

“Hey, you alright?” Amami said, sounding just as Korekiyo remembered him. “You don’t look so good. I guess that’s to be expected though, huh? Pretty odd situation we’ve found ourselves in.” He chuckled faintly, and all the while Korekiyo focused on breathing. In, out, in, out. It all felt so lifelike. They weren’t even in pain, nothing to indicate they’d just _died_.

“Name’s Amami Rantaro.” He stepped closer, outstretching a hand. For a split second, the sunset light coming in through the window dyed his hair an orangey red. Almost bloody, if you squinted. Just as quickly, it was gone. 

“Shinguuji Korekiyo,” they forced out, voice rougher than usual. “I am the Ultimate Anthropologist. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Amami-kun.” They shook the offered hand. Amami was warm. Alive. There wasn’t a single flicker of recognition in his eyes, nothing to suggest he remembered already having this encounter weeks ago. And yet Amami was dead, skull caved in from Akamatsu’s shot put ball. Korekiyo was intimately familiar with death, and they’d investigated Amami’s corpse themself. There was absolutely no doubt. Just as there was no doubt they’d been tied up and boiled alive.

Maybe this was hell.

“Likewise,” Amami said, jolting them out of their thoughts. “What do you say we do a little exploring, figure out what’s going on?”

Korekiyo nodded. This was the part where they inquired about Amami’s talent last time, but they didn’t bother now. If they were in a clearer state of mind, they’d consider the possibility of getting a different answer this time, but there were far too many other things vying for their attention.

“Certainly. Knowledge is power, after all.”

Even now, that was true. As they followed Amami out of the classroom, Sister murmured firm reminders from the back of their mind — stay calm, don’t let anyone see that you’re troubled. Speak clearly. Don’t shake. Stay focused. 

Maybe this was a second chance, she suggested. A second chance to fulfill their mission to her in full, and they wouldn’t mess up this time, would they? They wouldn’t be bested by a trivial annoyance like Saihara, wouldn’t be such a disappointment. Even if the physical signs of their punishment were gone, Sister’s anger was not. It was a palpable force, prickly and distracting as they tried to carry on a conversation with Amami. 

Everything progressed just as it had before, right down to the Monokubs’ obnoxious interruptions. Korekiyo and Amami parted ways to explore on their own before long, just as before. Amami said to take it easy, that they still looked a little shaken up. Not like before.

They thought they saw the flash of light reflecting off glasses around a corner, just for a split second. They had no reason to think anything of it.

* * *

Everything was repeating, and they seemed to be the only one who remembered. By the end of the day, that was the only possible conclusion to come to. Unless it was hell, in which case they were stuck here for eternity anyway, and it didn’t really matter what they thought of it. But Sister was still present within them, possessing their body, so they surely must _have_ a body, so... That existential quandary could go on forever. Korekiyo tried, as much as possible, to simply accept the facts of the situation as they knew them for now. That was the only way to move forward, rather than succumbing to a complete breakdown. 

After Akamatsu’s fruitless attempt to drag them all through the Death Road, they returned to their room, alone at last. The books and pages of notes spread across their desk were gone. The bed was neatly made. Even the toiletries provided in the bathroom were brand new. The toothpaste tube on the counter was full. The towels were folded neatly. They grabbed the shampoo bottle from the shower and unscrewed the cap just to check, only to find that the foil seal was still in place. Unopened. 

If the return of their dorm room to its original state was remarkable, the matching changes to their body were even moreso. They stood in front of the bathroom mirror and stripped off their uniform piece by piece, methodically undoing buttons and zippers. Sister had retreated for now, thankfully, so the only sound as they observed their utterly normal reflection was the rabbit-fast beating of their heart.

There were no scalds, and no rope burns. None of the telltale discoloration of a corpse either. Their makeup wasn’t even smeared. The only scars littering their body were old, climbing their arms and back since long before their first arrival at the academy. They let out a shuddering exhale, turning away from their own haunted face. Maybe a shower before bed would help. They could wash away the whole experience, metaphorically speaking.

Or not. The moment they stepped under the hot water, every muscle tensed. Inexplicably, the faint scent of ritual salt filled the air. The steam fogging up the shower door was suffocating. They gasped for breath, lungs burning. They tried to push past the heavy wave of dizziness to do something about it, but they couldn’t move, bound by the phantom sensation of tight ropes keeping them bound. 

It felt like a century before the feeling passed enough for Kiyo to reach out and turn off the shower. They got ready for bed mechanically, going through the motions while their mind was still stuck in the courtroom. No sleep came that night.

* * *

At breakfast they abandoned what had become their usual seat in favor of sitting as far away as possible from Chabashira and Yonaga. That was fine, they thought, tracing a deep gouge in the tabletop with their finger. With the exception of Amami, everyone seemed content to avoid them as much as possible, much like before. It was better here at the end of the table rather than in the middle of everything. It allowed for a more objective view, they reasoned. More effective observation.

It also had the unfortunate consequence of them ending up seated directly beside Yumeno, who was slumped down low in her chair and shooting Chabashira mutinous glares from over the rim of her coffee mug. _That_ dynamic didn’t take long to recreate itself. However, in between her looks at Chabashira, Yumeno glanced over at Kiyo too, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. Sister was pleased by that, they could feel it. Their stomach knotted up uncomfortably, and in the end, they left their plate half-full. 

They laid low for the next couple of days, suffering through sleepless nights and prioritizing observation above all else. It was crucial to get a better understanding of what was going on, and what rules governed this bizarre parallel world they’d ended up in. 

~~(All the better for avoiding their own thoughts, because the weight of all that pain might crush them for good.)~~

Yumeno continued sitting next to them at breakfast. Probably only to avoid Chabashira. She never spent much time around them last time, never seemed to have any particular interest. The two of them didn’t talk much, and that suited Korekiyo just fine, but she looked at them often, whenever they ended up in the same room. There was an intensity behind those glances they’d never seen from her before, and whenever they caught her in the act, she quickly looked away.

She complimented their eyeliner one morning around a yawn, casual as could be, and mentioned enjoying their stories. Then she put her head down on the table and fell asleep, burrowing into her crossed arms as if to escape the light. She would be so easy to kill, and Sister was already growing impatient. They stayed in the dining hall a long time that morning, waiting for the stress-induced tremors to stop wracking their leg under the table.

The time limit motive was announced the following day. Amami’s death (inevitable, surely) drew ever closer. Yumeno came to their door late in the evening, pale and drawn. She brought tea for the both of them and asked to stay awhile, already creeping past the threshold before they could answer. Their eyes traced the faint blue networks of veins in her neck, her hands, her wrists. There was a knife tucked under their mattress. They could do it.

But not yet, and especially not in their own room. Murder was easy. It was getting away with it that was hard. They accepted the tea, because Yumeno was pure, harmless. The genuine betrayal in her eyes at their trial couldn’t be faked.

Her face was the last one they saw clearly before they died, tears streaking down her face before the execution even began.

“What tale do you wish to hear today, Yumeno-san? One of Amaterasu, perhaps? Sun deities are popular the world over.” 

Korekiyo launched into a story and sipped their tea now and then, and for a short time, they could almost imagine things were normal. They began to feel dizzy, but that was normal lately. They simply sat up straighter, trying to take some deep breaths as the edges of their consciousness were steadily worn down, sandpaper scraping it away, smaller and smaller. It felt awfully hot in here, and it was starting to get hard to focus on what they were saying.

“Sorry, Shinguuji,” Yumeno murmured when they paused mid-sentence yet again, genuinely sounding it. Her lips pulled into a frown, she got up from the edge of their bed and sighed. “I think I should be going now. See you next time.” 

“...Huh?” They felt so sluggish that she was halfway to the door before they even mustered that response. The ordinary light in their room seemed much brighter than it should. They squinted over at Yumeno, eyes starting to water, and saw two of her, then three, then back to one. Was she about to cry? Why? In their blurry field of vision, she looked almost like she did just before they died. 

Just before they... 

Korekiyo picked up their empty tea cup and stared down at it numbly for a moment before looking back up at Yumeno. She was almost smiling now, caught halfway between a smirk and a grimace.

“I win,” she whispered before slipping out the door, silent as a cat.

Quick and violent as slamming on the brakes, Sister took control. They were nothing but a silent spectator as their body leapt up to give chase and nearly overbalanced, stubborn fingers yanking their mask down as they went. They were never to interfere with Sister. Sister knew best, and to force her to exert herself like this, being such a _failure_ again, was unacceptable. 

They melted into the background without protest, barely hearing the words coming out of their own mouth as Sister attempted to pursue Yumeno across the lobby, the _you wretched little girl unworthy coward apologize what did you do apologize what the hell did you do i’ll kill you._

They did, however, feel the shock of pain when she tripped halfway up the stairs on the girls’ side of the dorm and went down hard on their knees, Yumeno already safely locked in her room. They struggled to get up, but the whole building was going topsy turvy with vertigo, and suddenly all the railings were made of red rope, the stairs slick with dripping blood and paint set to boil.

Shinguuji Korekiyo died on the staircase and woke up in a locker.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get heavier in this one re:abuse and other bits of kiyo's backstory

After returning to life for a second time, they knew what to expect. Even before they opened their eyes, they knew they were in a metal locker. Perhaps more importantly than that, they knew they didn’t want to speak to anyone yet. Or ever, preferably, but they were trying to be reasonable. They scrambled to open the door, already bracing for the onslaught of light.

When they stretched their aching back, free at last, they heard a faint clanging sound. Amami hadn’t yet gotten out of his locker — the noise must be him fumbling with the door. A kind person would stop and help him, but Korekiyo had long since come to terms with the fact that they weren’t most people’s definition of kind. For that matter, they might barely be a person. 

They hustled out of the classroom, careful to be as quiet as possible, so that maybe Amami wouldn’t know he’d been abandoned.

Time morphed and swirled as they dragged themself through the routine of introductions and exploration for the third time. More than once, they found their gaze drifting in the direction of the dormitory building. It would be so easy to just slip away and curl up in their freshly made bed, hide under the covers until they felt able to face the world again. It would be easy, and yet, something within them resisted the idea. Hiding from everyone was exactly the sort of thing an early victim would do. It was a major death flag, as Shirogane might say. Having been the first victim once now, Korekiyo could say with confidence that they didn't want to do so again. That could be left to Amami, or whoever else might end up unlucky this time.

That wasn't the only reason for pushing away the temptation, however. Just looking across the courtyard in that direction sent a rush of sharp pain through their body, deep in their stomach. They didn't want to face the site of their (second) death. Seeing the lobby wouldn't poison them all over again. The clean, ordinary air wasn't Yumeno's tea. They knew all these things, logically, but they still stayed away as long as possible.

Korekiyo experienced fear just like any other human. The vast range of emotions people were capable of wouldn't be nearly so beautiful without the negatives. They'd always done their best to embrace that, but this kind of visceral, panic-laden anxiety was something that hadn't plagued them in a long while. It was uncomfortable, and so they kept moving, walking up and down the halls as if to escape from their thoughts.

Their

very

quiet

thoughts.

Sister wasn't talking to them. She hadn't said a single word since they woke up this time, in fact. Of course, she wasn't always active and talking. If Korekiyo never had any silence in their own head at all, it would be impossible to get anything done, regardless of how well they'd done adapting to her possession. Yes, she might just be resting. There might not be anything strange about this quiet at all, and yet fear filled their heart.

It was always painful when she gave them the silent treatment, both when she was alive and after her death. Normally she scolded them when she was angry. She yelled. Complete and utter silence meant that they'd messed up so badly they didn't even deserve to know how disappointed she was. They weren't worth the wasted breath. As a child, that usually meant Korekiyo ended up talking more. Apologizing, pleading, doing anything to fill the silence. Without exception, she didn't say a word until after there were tears streaming down their cheeks.

"You know what you've done wrong," she might coo. "I need to be able to rely on you, sweet Korekiyo. You're getting older now. You need to try harder." Even the doctors made comments here and there about 'being a good brother.' A good brother took care of his sister, they might say. Unspoken: a good brother didn't have emotions, or dreams that would interfere with his duties. A good brother was a parent, friend, nurse, and more, despite being only ten. A good brother was a boy, with no interest in his sister's makeup.

They were a fast learner. They started middle school as 'the man of the house,' though sometimes they almost forgot what their house looked like, given how little time they spent there. They took care of Sister, because nobody ever told them there was another option. Phone calls from their parents slowed and stopped. They didn't know what they'd done wrong.

That was how things used to be. But they were older now, and so they reacted to her silence with silence of their own. They gave minimal introductions and stared off into space during the gaps in conversation. Whether this made them seem more or less creepy than usual, Korekiyo wasn't sure.

Yumeno was subdued too, and mostly avoided looking at them. She was being led around by Shirogane this time instead of Chabashira, but that was the only major difference. It was uncanny enough that they had to wonder whether the previous loop had all been one big delusion. Maybe Yumeno didn't remember at all. Maybe she hadn't murdered them.

Something like fear shone in her eyes. Shirogane took her hand gently, but it didn't seem to reassure her. Assuming they must be the cause of her uneasiness, Korekiyo wandered away.

Days passed in a haze like this, one after another. They didn't really care what happened. They just didn't want to die again. They fell asleep in the courtyard in the middle of the afternoon, sun-warmed and with the scent of fresh grass clinging to their uniform. People gossiped, not bothering to be quiet about it. Iruma in particular made her opinion on their sanity clear. Sister was there, filling the back of their mind, but silent. Why?

They couldn't kill for her here anymore. Not unless they wanted to be executed again. Besides, would it even count? As impermanent as death seemed to be in this school, new ghosts would leave her as soon as they arrived.

The day before the time limit was up — the day after Yumeno killed them last time — Amami approached them in the courtyard. He sat down on the ground beside them, and they saw him in their peripheral vision, but continued gazing up at the glass sky. The sun was hot, but comfortably so. It wasn't intense enough to remind them of dying, and the brim of their hat shielded their eyes from the worst of the light. It was quiet, and they waited for Amami to speak. They were always waiting for someone to speak these days.

"Shinguuji-san," he said eventually, ringed fingers plucking out blades of grass.

"Amami-kun," they replied, voice slow and unhurried. Maybe all this time outside, if it could even be counted as such underneath a massive dome, was lulling them into submission. They spent plenty of time outside when they were off doing fieldwork, but it was always for a purpose. To go somewhere, to see something. Not to just laze about in the sun like a lizard on a rock. And when they were at home, they spent nearly all their time indoors. That was a habit that carried over to the Ultimate Academy the first time around. Korekiyo whiled away their time in either the school building or their dorm room. They didn't realize how nice this fake nature could feel. They didn't realize how peaceful the quiet in their head could be.

"What's going on with you?" Amami asked. "I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye." It wasn't funny, but they had to stifle a snort anyway.

"If you're trying to suggest I have information you might want, then I suppose you're correct. You're going to die tomorrow." The words rolled off their tongue so easily, no thought given to the consequences. Was this the apathy that Yumeno felt? If so, Korekiyo could understand why she clung to it. It felt like nothing mattered at all.

"We all are, if nothing's done about the time limit." They were still staring up at the fake clouds, but they could hear the suspicion in Amami's voice. They didn't need to look over at him to see that he was glowering. "Why so sure about me in particular? Do you know something I don't?" There was a pause, as if he needed to weigh his words before continuing on. "Or is that a threat?"

"It's not a threat," they said, half-expecting Sister to interrupt. "I don't kill men."

There was a soft rustle of grass as Amami moved farther away. Korekiyo frowned under their mask, picking at the fraying gauze at their wrist. Momota was yelling at someone in the distance, but there was no one close enough to overhear this conversation. They weren't sure they'd care if there was.

"Implying you _do_ kill other people?" It wasn't an unexpected response. They had no intention of confessing to their crimes unless forced to though, so instead they laughed.

"Of course not. It was merely a joke. My only wish is to observe humanity's beauty here, not to cause anyone harm."

"Right." Amami chuckled weakly in agreement, and at that moment, Korekiyo finally looked over to make eye contact with him. Gold met green, but a second later, the connection was broken. He heaved a sigh and got to his feet, brushing loose bits of grass from his clothes. "It's best not to say things like that here, Shinguuji-san. People might think you're serious."

"I'll take that under advisement." They watched him go. Still, Sister didn't speak.

He must not have told anyone else about the conversation, because nobody brought it up in the trial. Korekiyo took an odd sort of comfort in the fact that Amami did indeed die from being hit with a shot put ball the next day. It felt like things were back on track, back in familiar territory. This timeline still wasn't exactly the same as the first. Shirogane's watchful eye on Yumeno, their own lack of interaction. Little things like that were different, but as long as the big picture was the same, they could relax for a little while.

After watching Akamatsu die (oh, she'd be a lovely friend, just wonderful), they got a notebook from the warehouse. Even if they couldn't bring it with them between loops, a journal might help keep their thoughts in order.

The first time around, they took notes on their classmates' behavior. Mostly the girls', in order to determine who would be suitable for Sister. Now, they took similar notes, but with a very different goal. They wanted to record differences between timelines, and remember what happened when. It felt like beginning to forget those things would be the first step into true insanity.

As they recorded their meager observations from the past several days, starting to feel drowsy, their mind kept drifting back to their conversation with Amami. It was the most significant encounter they'd had with anyone this time, and his reaction to their 'joke' wouldn't leave their mind. It was engraved in Korekiyo's mind almost as deeply as the events of their trial, when they watched their remaining classmates lose their last shreds of respect for them.

They knew most people didn't approve of killing, but was it really so heinous, so unforgivable? Could they truly not see any difference between Korekiyo's mission and the actions of a thoughtless maniac? Having spent over two years in pursuit of their goal, the answers to questions like that were no longer obvious.

They were eighteen years old with a kill count of ninety. Yonaga and Chabashira had been ninety one and ninety two, but they didn't count anymore, so back to a nice round number. Sometimes they wondered if that was part of why they were never caught, or even really suspected. All their careful habits and frequent travel had to play a role, but maybe people just couldn't believe a high school student was capable of such a massive list of crimes. They'd been sixteen, seventeen, killing girls on three different continents in the space of weeks like it was nothing.

It was something, though. They didn't enjoy killing, contrary to what some might think. They'd grown tolerant of it, but only did it on Sister's orders. They were never able to fully suppress their own reactions, both physical and emotional, to taking a life. It took a toll.

The first was the only one that felt good. They were fifteen then, a year before they truly started gathering friends. Before they had Sister's spirit with them always, urging them on and demanding more. She was strict in life too, even towards the end when sickness stole her breath and made every word a struggle. She wanted the best ~~(from)~~ _for_ them.

_Korekiyo committed their first murder sitting in their favorite hospital chair. They vividly remembered the cracked, plasticky beige cushion and the wheels that always stuck. Their greasy hair, damp from trying to wash it in the sink, because they'd barely been home in a week. Sister had threatened to cut it all off in a brief fit of energy, but she didn't have any scissors. Their hair wasn't the only thing she'd threatened to cut off, actually, but they were trying not to think about that, and trying not to let their hair drip on the pages of their book. She was sleeping now, so they had a little peace. They knew it would be bad later._

_Their first murder was picking up the clicker from where it laid atop her sheets. Their first murder was pressing the button. Click, click, click. Morphine on demand. Six times for the six years since she first told them to be a good brother. They watched her bluish lips, the ragged rise and fall of her chest. The air conditioner kicked on, its hum disguising the sound of their own frightened breath._

_By the time the monitors started beeping, they'd drifted into a fitful sleep. One of the nurses gave them a look before drawing them into a hug, but she said nothing. She probably would've done the same thing, given a few more days._

_Their parents came home for the funeral, and that was all. For a year, they were alone._

They woke up almost expecting to be back there, but they were still in their dorm room, the open pages of their notebook stained with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was mostly just a fuckload of introspection and i'm sorry. i rly don't know how i feel abt it. hopefully the dreamlike, disjointed style wasn't too difficult to follow or anything hhh


End file.
